Potential
by Engar
Summary: Both of them felt wronged in life. Both of them felt that, but for one man, they could have done better. Now, through a simple chain of events, both will be given the chance to prove themselves. And Earth may not survive their testing.
1. Chapter 1

I admit it, I'm weak. Here I am with a story to be continuing and I start a new one, I don't _want _to be this pathetic but I can't help it. I'd rather work on something with an end in sight. Anyway.

While it wont be short, I don't intend for this story to drag on too long. Updates may be sporadic but I'm going to try and dedicate myself to this one. I like the idea, hopefully you will too.

* * *

A stout pinkish figure stepped gingerly into the kitchen, blinking in the bright golden glow of dawn as it burst through the open windows. Moving slowly, every noise amplified by the silence of the new day, it pulled open the refrigerator and extracted a glass of milk. Turning, glass held in the crook of one arm, the figure concentrated and was suddenly over six feet tall with spiky black hair and muscled limbs.

Using the sudden increase in height, the figure easily managed to open the top cupboard and pull out a bowl. Closing the door and laying both objects on the kitchen table, ever so slightly, the figure turned and concentrated again; this time reverting back to his stout, pinkish figure. Another cupboard, this one on ground floor, was pulled open to reveal an empty space.

Where a box of cereal should have been.

An empty space.

The figure sighed expressively then, snout twitching in irritation, drew a deep breath and shattered the silence.

"You used the last of the cereal _again_, didn't you Roshi!"

Deaf to the cries of protest – and muffled explosion of energy – Oolong transformed again and searched for the bread.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Far from the broken peace of Kame House, deep in the cold expanses of space, a monstrosity approached an unsuspecting space station. Large, ungainly, surrounded by an aura of rust and battered from all sides; the only impressive part of the ship's design was the fact that every square inch that wasn't covered by engines and shielding was encrusted with armaments. Indeed as the Chief of Docking looked out upon it he wasn't sure whether to be afraid or in hysterics.

"Name and registration.." correctly interpreting the silence of the ship, he added the perfunctory "please?"

There was another moment of silence, then a proud – if reedy – voice crackled across the radio.

"My name is Lord Pilaf; I have no registration but I believe these-" all available guns on the ship lit up and focussed on the Chief's workstation, "-speak for themselves."

Making a swift calculation between the amount his own life was worth and the worth of his position in the station, the soon-to-be-former Chief bypassed the security measures and extended an access port.

"Welcome to the Station 2-OY of the galaxy-"

"Save it," snapped the voice of the irate owner of the ship, though in truth he sounded more weary than annoyed, "Just repair it so I can be on my way."

A second deduction revealed to the Chief what honour was worth; he took the offensive alien's advice and kept his mouth shut. As soon as the procedure was over he signed off and, packing what little essentials he had, departed from the Station as quickly as possible. Something about that 'Pilaf' made him want to be as far away as possible. Besides, when the Chief of the Station discovered what he, lowly Chief of Docking, had done, the excrement would really hit the air conditioning.

As the Chief of Docking boarded the next passenger ship, Lord Pilaf was steadily getting himself drunk. Thanks to some freak named _Buu_ the Earth was gone, along with his two loyal servants – he had _wanted_ to take them but there hadn't been enough.. something or other, he forgot what – and the Dragon Balls. Not that they would have been any use; Pilaf had been interested in controlling Earth alone and that was dust now.

Sitting there, half-stuck to some alcohol soaked bar stool in the middle of nowhere out in the dead ends of space, Pilaf reflected that all this came down to one thing. To one person.

This and every blasted thing that had gone wrong in his life was somehow connected to that monkey-tailed, black haired, completely witless little wild boy.

He didn't know how, he didn't know why; but this was all Son Goku's fault.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

_This is all Son Goku's fault._

Things had, once, been a lot easier than they were now; or so believed one stout under-appreciated, under-educated, under-foot pig. There had been a palace with dozens of pretty – _reasonably attractive at least –_ loving – _when in a good mood_ – women – _kinda_ – but those days were over. And no matter how he thought about it, he couldn't escape from the impression that it was all Son Goku's fault.

He was the one that had shown him up in front of the town's people, revealing what he was to the whole world. He was the one who had dragged him along on his adventures which – to his mind – had been one long embarrassment. The fact that he had recently saved the world a couple of times couldn't make up for the fact that he had ruined his life.

"Uncle Oolong!"

The pig glanced down from the kitchen table towards the beaming face of Maron; Krillen's only child and the relationship was very obvious. Her small pudgy arms waved at him, fingers that seemed eternally sticky grasping at him to be lifted up.

"Up!"

On an impulse Oolong concentrated, his teeth going from flat and unimpressive to huge and sharp, his eyes beadier, his breath full of angry, demonic pow-

"Up!"

The illusion faded away and Oolong, rolling his eyes, reached down and grasped the child under the arms – lifting her up onto his lap easily enough before awkwardly continuing to eat his burnt toast.

"Mummy 'n daddy sleeping."

"That so?"

Selecting a lighter slice of toast, Oolong bit down on it gingerly then swallowed the whole thing; transforming always made him peckish. Maron chose a much darker piece of toast and bashed it off the side of the table with a distressing clunk.

"Maron hungry?" asked Oolong after extracting the toast before the girl could do any irreparable damage to the furniture.

"Hungry," agreed Maron.

"Wake Mummy and Daddy then."

Oolong could actually hear the pout though he couldn't see it, Maron's stubby arms folded in disgust at her parents' laziness.

"Too sleepy."

He could see where this was going easily enough as the two of them had the same conversation every morning. Krillen and Android 18 were naturally late sleepers – mostly because the two of them had, in their own ways, been very regulated in their risings in earlier life – while Oolong went to bed much earlier and Maron still had the sporadic naps that meant she needed less sleep at night. Still he wouldn't have been himself if he didn't at least try to avoid doing something.

"Wanna try Roshi?"

Maron swivelled around on his lap and glared at Oolong, a glare so much like the one her mother used that he gave a mock yelp – half amused all the while - and gave up his seat in order to make the little girl some toast of her own. He changed twice through the whole ordeal, once to the form of Gohan to get the bread and another time into that of Piccolo, who's gravelly voice commanded the little girl to make a decision between jam and marmalade.

The little girl giggled but apart from that didn't appear bothered by the changes.

_Once_, reflected Oolong as Maron dug into her meal, _I struck fear into the hearts of a whole town. Now I can't even scare one little girl._

Outside of the hour or two that Maron and he spent alone together, Oolong rarely changed his shape at all. He viewed those few hours as a sort of early morning exercise, he hadn't pushed the limits of his abilities for years now. He suspected that, if he wanted to, he could do it just as he had done before. Maybe a little better. What was it the teachers had kept harping on about?

'Transforming is, more than anything else, about understanding that your shape is determined by you and you alone. Get that and you can be anything.'

_What a crock._

Sometimes he considered asking Puar about it but dreaded the 'You'd Know This if You Had Stayed In School' lecture that seemed to haunt their every meeting. There was _one_ thing he couldn't blame on Goku, he had left the Academy all by himself. He wasn't even sure why any more..

His musings were disrupted by the clatter and subsequent smash of Maron's plate, her overexcited playing with her leftovers knocking the plate from table to floor. From his seat Oolong finished off his tea, already resigned to his fate, and reluctantly accepted the girl's hug in order to avoid the water works.

_Here I am, _Oolong thought not five minutes later, _on my hands and knees, cleaning up after a girl that isn't even my own, in a house where I don't belong all because I have nowhere else to go. And it's all your fault, Son Goku. _

_I don't know how you did it, but you ruined my life._


	2. Chapter 2

Correct, this one does focus on Oolong. His own moral standing is on pretty shakey ground, on several occasions he's proved himself to be a selfish coward. But I see more in the pig, and that's a big part of what this story is about. :)

* * *

"There I was, Mighty Lord Pilaf, a _god_ among mortals.. I was goo.. ga.. _going_ to rule over 'em all! People would have worshipped me!" The stout – and not a little inebriated – megalomaniac span away from the mechanical barman, who was proving a poor audience, and rocked on his barstool before continuing in his rant. "I could've been the best thing to ever happen to that planet! 'N what happens!"

A bottle blurred through the dead air of the bar and missed Pilaf's nose by bare inches; the metallic barman fielded the bottle with one hand, set it down on the bar and continued to wash the glass in it's other two hands.

"Exactly! Exactly my friends! It was destra.. destre.. destroyed! Wiped out! Turned into dust! And what cataclysm could possibly render my home non-existant, I hear you cry!"

Time was a sketchy thing in space – all kinds of species had their own understanding of how long a day was. However it was decided by general consensus that it was getting pretty damn late – the alcohol was dripping away and leaving most feeling sick and completely unwilling to receive a lecture.

"No we fuckin' don't!" "Shut the hell up!" "Where're mah shoes?"

Pilaf swayed slightly, blinking as the alcohol that held his system rewrote what he was hearing into what he wanted to hear. It wasn't a particularly hard task; his sober mind had, after all, gotten it down decades ago.

"A damned pink monster! That is what; some rotund chunk of retarded bubblegum! The insult, the outrage, to be put through such a thing by a monster that ridiculous! Buu! Who here has ever heard of something so.. so.. so dumb?"

Silence reigned the bar for a moment. There were no thrown bottles, no curses or threats pierced Pilaf's body or soul. Even the robotic barman appeared to have paused, staring at the little lord in frank horror.

"S-say.." one of the bars constituents forced himself up from his seat; a reptilian creature with a pointed snout and slitted eyes, "say again, friend. Did you say 'Buu'?"

"Yes, man," Pilaf just managed to keep his balance, "are you drunk!"

"This Buu thing, I've heard about it.." another drunk, this one a good step closer to sober, lay back against the table he rested on, "people used to think it was just a legend but it was real. It came back not so long ago – like yah said – and totalled a couple of planets.. then it just vanished again."

Pilaf blinked, not used to being interrupted and even less used to finding something someone else said interesting, and opened his mouth to speak. He was, however, cut short by the lizard creature.

"That is but part of the story.." it whispered in something close to reverence, "for all the planets that were destroyed have returned. Were it not for a trusted friend witnessing some of the destruction, I would not believe in it at all.."

_The planets returned!_ Pilaf rubbed a hand across his face and tried to concentrate. _That could only happen if the Dragonballs were still around.. Earth is still there! Earth and the Dragonballs!_

He was ecstatic; it's not every day that you discover the home you thought you had lost was back. All he needed to do was return and round up the Dragonballs, then he could take the world and everything would be alright!

Except..

_Son Goku._

Pilaf didn't doubt for a second that the monkey tailed brat had a part in the end of Buu; didn't he _always_? What was the point in wishing for control of the Earth if that dolt was strong enough to defeat a creature that could tear planets in two? Surely Son could just waltz up and crush him were he to try anything of the sort.

The fact of the matter was that while Son Goku was alive Pilaf had no chance of taking control of the world – Dragonballs or no Dragonballs. He didn't have any choice really. Son Goku would have to go.

It was a testament to Pilaf's determination – a drive which had kept him going for years upon years – that he did not once consider the fact that he could not defeat Son Goku.

"Well this has been enlightening," he beamed at the others and hopped off his barstool, stumbling slightly but still feeling the glow of achievement – and alcohol – flowing through his system. "I wish you all well in your endeavours as I trust you wish me." Pilaf turned towards the exit and took one small step for himself.

"Sir?" The mechanical barman was peering across its bar, lights flashing behind the lenses it used for eyes, "your tab?"

All at once Pilaf's appearance changed; his glowing smile melted like snow to reveal a hard frown. One hand reached into the backpack he kept by his side without once letting his gaze leave the robot.

"I shall take care of it when I return." His tone made the space outside of the station seem positively balmy.

"Sir," the droid's voice was apologetic but firm, "I must insist that you make good on your-"

In one fluid movement Pilaf's hand rose out of his backpack, the dim lights of the bar glinting off the cool grey metal of the device that was closed around his right hand. The metal above the back of his hand had a display and a series of buttons; just beyond his knuckles the object tapered off into thin, o-shaped hole. A glowing hole.

"_That_," murmured Pilaf, "was rude."

The deep purple of the laser leapt from his weapon – the droid's head landed five feet away, blackened and smelling of burnt circuits. Pilaf, meanwhile, crowed with delight. What a weapon! What a find! He would have to credit his servants when he got back; their raid on Capsule Corp had been a complete success!

With that, gibbering happily to himself, Pilaf turned from the broken remains of the robot and the terrified drunkards. Before him was his ship, his destiny and, perhaps most important of all, the death of Son Goku.

_------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Ring. Ring. Ring.

"Hey Oolong, you wanna get that?"

The pig in question was lying across the couch, observing with great interest as half a dozen young, shapely women stretched and grunted across the screen of the T.V. Roshi, wishing to keep up the pretence, was moving back and forth in time with the girls but really everyone in the family – except for Maron.. hopefully - knew why he was watching it. Personally Oolong doubted many martial artists watched the 'Lets Get Fit' hour in order to be educated.

"Oolong?"

He glanced over his shoulder at Krillen's request but made no more effort. He was sitting on the porch of the house in what, to Oolong's expert eye, appeared to be an attempt at meditation. It was preparation for Yamcha's arrival. Ever since his second date with death the ex-bandit had been throwing himself back into training. Krillen was about as close to his level as he was going to get and even then he was out of his league, but some feelings of guilt or something like that kept him coming.

"Anyone going to get that?"

Oolong watched as Krillen's form shook under the repeated rings; he felt slightly guilty over not going for the phone but not much. This wasn't his house – no matter how many years he lived there, Oolong refused to think of himself as anything more than a house-guest – and he was damned if he'd fill in for an answering machine as well as a babysitting service.

"Gah, fine, fine.." Krillen broke, as Oolong expected, and rose from the wooden floorboards. He darted inside and within another second was cradling the phone, apologising for not getting to it quicker.

_There now_, Oolong thought smugly, _wasn't so hard, was it?_

"Yeah, Bulma. We're all great thanks, what about... huh? ... Uh, not much I guess, Yamcha's comin' over for a sp- ... I guess I could ask. What's this abo-"

Krillen replaced the phone on the hook and sighed expansively, running a hand through his long, black hair as he turned to glance in Oolong's direction. It was lucky, Oolong conceded privately to himself, that Krillen was such an amiable guy; lesser people, Oolong himself for instance, probably would have taken a little pent up annoyance out on anyone nearby.

"Looks like I'm taking a trip to Capsule Corp," the former monk dropped himself down on the remainder of the couch and stared blankly at the screen, "You guys mind watching Maron for me? Bulma says she wants 18 and Yamcha along as well.."

"Shouldn't be a problem, m'boy," muttered Roshi without looking around, turning his torso from side to side. "Just so long as your gorgeous wife has a kiss for an old timer as thanks," the old man glanced over his shoulder and cackled as Krillen blushed in embarrassment and pressed his palms against his face.

"Gah, Master Roshi, please.."

"Just kiddin', you gotta loosen up, son."

Krillen nodded, smiling slightly, and rocked back onto his feet.

"I'll just go tell 18 about Bulma.."

"That's the way, m'boy, you go loosen up!"

"Master!"

Oolong snorted and rolled over to stare up at the ceiling, reflecting on the unlikely combination of 18 and Krillen. _I mean really, she's this complete babe – even if she is as loving as a brick – and Krillen is, no offence meant, a complete dork. _To be painfully blunt Oolong had been shocked not by the fact that 18 could have children but by the fact that Krillen could even lie down in the same bed as her without fainting.

The couch shifted slightly but Oolong didn't respond, you didn't have to sense energy to guess that Roshi had sat down. Or that Roshi's attention was now falling solidly on the pig.

"What about you?" Roshi asked, Oolong could picture his leering grin perfectly.

"What about me, Roshi?"

"When're you gonna meet up with some young, beautiful female and raise a couple of piglets?"

"Shortly after HFIL freezes over. You know me, Roshi. I have never and will never want kids – as for the beautiful young women, they're not such a big thing. More trouble than they're worth."

_Not strictly speaking true, but the old man doesn't need to know _that.

"I might as well ask when _you're_ going to find some old woman and settle down, raise a pension or whatever."

Roshi snorted, "I already have."

This received nothing but incredulous silence as Oolong slowly sat up and stared at his friend who was meeting his gaze with some irritation but no humour whatsoever.

"Why so surprised? I was young once, you know."

Roshi may have meant it jokingly but it still shocked Oolong; part of him really had believed that Roshi had been old from birth. The idea of Roshi as a kid – worse, a young, vibrant warrior – was almost ridiculous.

"Seriously? A wife? Kids!"

"'Course, that's the way it was back then. You find someone, you settle down."

The old man shrugged and, for perhaps the first time ever, Oolong caught a glimpse of just how old the man was. Over three hundred meant nothing to him.. but the idea of outliving an entire family managed to hit home.

"They got older, I didn't. They're probably up there somewhere, waiting. Maybe one day I'll get tired of being down here and waltz on up.."

This was not the sort of conversation Oolong wanted to have. Serious discussions were things that he and the old man avoided easily.. this was new and disturbing territory and Oolong wanted out.

"Anyway," muttered Oolong, lying back and trying not to think about Roshi watching his children grow old, "it's not for me. I had girls once.. but things got in the way." _One thing. One person. Goku, again._

Before Roshi could make any kind of reply 18 and Krillen stepped into the living room, 18 dropping Maron on the old man's lap with a warning glare for both him and Oolong. Krillen nodded at them and opened the door for his wife:

"We're going to meet Yamcha half-way and go on from there, shouldn't be more than a few hours.." Krillen hesitated, taking into consideration what sort of things could happen when all of the so called 'Z-Warriors' were called together, "probably. Take care guys!"

The door swung back on itself, the wood not enough to muffle the crackle of energy as Krillen and 18 launched themselves into the air.

"One hundred Zeni says there's going to be another 'world-threatening' battle."

Roshi snorted.

"Best not to tempt fate.. besides you don't _have_ a hundred Zeni."

"Grampa?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Need to go.."

"Where do you need to go, Maron?"

"Nooo.. need to go!"

Two male grins became fixed and frozen and petrified. Maron crawled into the space between the two of them and squirmed unhappily. The silence stretched to the breaking point, then both men simultaneously stood up and ran into each other.

"I gotta-" "Need to get-"

They met each others gaze – wise men of the world – and Oolong was the first to turn away... and the first to launch himself over the couch and sprint for the door. He didn't even make it past the porch, Roshi spiralled into his path and Oolong found himself writhing on the floor.

_Damn, damn, damned bloody ancient martial artists!_

"Maron," Roshi was grinning again so at least they had skated out of 'bad-conversation' territory, not that Oolong cared much about that then and there, "your Uncle Oolong will be with you in a moment."

_Your fault, Son Goku! I don't know how and I don't know why but this is your fault too!_

_------------------------------------------------------------------------_

"Yes, woman, that's absolutely correct. I am so petty that I stole your journal and hid it. What deductive reasoning."

"Don't joke, no one else even knows about it!"

"But I don't _care _about your journal! You only told me about it because of your ridiculous infatuation with me and never once did I show even the _slightest _interest in it!"

Forehead twitching, Bulma stood resolute at the door to the Gravity Chamber. The key was somewhere on her person, Vegeta knew that much. She didn't keep her advantages hidden, she flaunted them in order to get her way. Were it not for the fact that the door needed to be intact to use the Chamber he would have powered up and walked right through the damned thing.

"Give. Me. My. Key!"

"_Give_! _Me_! _My_! _Journal_!"

The two glowered at each other.

"Why is me that you immediately distrust? What about the brat!"

"Don't you dare try to blame Trunks for this!"

"All he ever _does_ is play pranks, him and Kakarots' spawn!"

Groaning, Bulma strode past her common-law husband while nursing her forehead. Of course it was ridiculous for Vegeta to have stolen her journal; if he wanted to know something he asked. Sneaking around wasn't his style; mostly it was a positive trait.

"But I didn't misplace it! I keep it locked up in the lab at all times, I even write on paper because I don't trust the security systems on the computers."

"Who would want to read your journal that much!"

She turned on Vegeta, seething red.

"Someone, obviously, as it's been stolen! What about you, big Saiyan Prince, can't keep a common thief out of our home."

"Maybe if we lived in a normal home!" Vegeta snapped back, "Instead of a zoo/science centre/refugee camp!"

"Perhaps you'd prefer to live in a space capsule!"

The two entered the house proper, coming in through the kitchen door. Trunks was sitting at the kitchen table, leafing through another of his comic books, where Vegeta joined him. The argument continued regardless, even as Bulma turned on the kettle and grabbed two cups.

"At least the company would be better!"

"Huh, and maybe I'd be able to keep some food in the place!"

She poured tea for the two of them and handed Vegeta his mug. He sipped on the steaming liquid reflectively, then glanced at his wife as she leaned against the counter.

"What's dad done now?" asked Trunks, not looking up from the comic.

"Your mother," replied Vegeta pointedly, "has lost her journal. Being insane she jumped to the conclusion that I stole it."

"Did you?"

"Please, if I wished to annoy her I would have destroyed it and left the evidence on the kitchen table."

"Vegeta!"

"Well, brat? Did _you_ steal it?"

"I didn't even know mom _had_ a journal."

"Well that's just great.."

"Honestly, woman, does it really matter?"

She sighed and finished off her tea with grim determination. The point was that the journal contained everything, not just her own personal feelings. What had happened – really happened rather than what most people believed – in the real world. The specs for a couple of Capsule Corp prototypes. Everything that she had felt like writing about for half a decade.

Quite a bit about Vegeta, mostly unflattering.

"No, I suppose not. It's just that I finally finished something I had been working on and.. well I feel better after writing about it." She glared at Vegeta, a shade defensive. "Lots of people do it!"

"Would this be the project you've remained so secretive over?"

Vegeta tended not to care about Bulmas projects; outside of minor ship and scouter repair, mechanics had always bored him. Princes weren't meant to do the work of common grunts, after all, and that mentality still held strong. In the beginning Bulma had tried to bring her work to bed, chattering endlessly into his ear over mundane problems and even more mundane solutions. He had ended that quickly.

And yet when she purposefully hid something from him, he became curious. She tended to at least mention what she was working on – possibly to get the strained wince on his face – but this he had only found out about through overhearing a conversation between her and her father.

"Maybe. I'm going to have to gather everyone together for this one though."

"Excuse me, by everyone you mean Kakarot and the rest?"

"Yes, _our_ friends."

"And I will be seeing this, for the first time, with them. As though I were on the same level?"

"Think of it as reminding you of your place. I'll call Krillen first, to get him and 18. Then Goku to gather up Piccolo and Tien and Yamcha, plus Goten and Gohan. You know that Instant Transmission technique's really quite useful."

The Saiya-Jin Prince grunted but ignored the obvious dig.

Smirking now that her newest prized possession was about to be revealed, Bulma grabbed the house phone from it's hook and punched in the numbers for Kames House. She brought up to her ear and waited.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

"Damn it, woman, you never gave me the key!"


	3. Chapter 3

Capsule Corp security was good - perhaps the best in the world - but like everything there were holes. People forgot that nothing, no matter how much money you dropped into it, can work perfectly. They created something and then effectively forgot about it; sure in their own safety. Gates locked but unmanned.

Men and women - training well enough, planning hard enough, moving quickly enough – could cut through any security system.. with some luck. Nothing was impenetrable.

The night prior a shadow had swept through the halls of Capsule Corp, making a beeline for the labs where all the most precious things were stored. Pausing only to avoid the sweeping glare of security cameras, the dark form spent most of the scant moments that passed running. The schematics of the building were hot-wired to his memory; more than that he had been there before.

Everything was for sale in the world, even the plans for Capsule Corp security. Still it would take an expert to use them, and the shadow _was_ an expert.

Hesitating at a long corridor, he unhooked a small bow from over his shoulder. The shadow sighted an arrow along it and released it with a hiss, the reinforced head managing to pierce the ceiling halfway along the corridor. A rope trailed the arrow and he held it fast, eyeing the wall.

Were he someone else he might have said, 'Here goes nothing.' He didn't.

From a standing start he leapt and began to run – along the wall. He continued to reel in the rope as he ran, keeping it taught even as he came level with the arrow, then began feeding it out slowly enough to keep it taught. The rope gave him just enough lift to keep running, padded feet dancing just above the invisible infra-red sensors that lined the floor.

He landed silently and, bringing a dagger out from his belt, fixed the rope to the wall.

Certainly Capsule Corp was a bigger job than he was used to; life vows were a bitch.. in a manner of speaking. Lord Pilaf had come within seconds of killing him – which was understandable as he had been a hired assassin and Pilaf his target. He had scaled every trap the diminutive lords palace had to offer to arrive in his bedchamber's.. unfortunately the MO hadn't mentioned trouble sleeping.

The problem was that while he could handle the sort of solo bravery scaling a fortress required.. he couldn't support that sort of will in a face-off. He was shamed to admit that, as Mia stepped out of the shadows with a pyjama wearing Lord Pilaf hiding behind her legs, he had crumbled. Still Pilaf was an old fashioned kind of person – it was something he respected – and after explaining at length how inferior he was, Pilaf offered him a job. In exchange for his life he would enter service as one of many in Pilafs' army up until the day he took control of the world.

Of course Pilafs' own temperamental nature meant that by the time Son Goku appeared the army had dwindled to two. Still he had stuck with it. A vow was a vow was a vow and all that.

Within minutes he was inside the lab (a short sentence that hid an assortment sort of gymnastics and lock picking skills; at least Pilaf could afford telectronic equipment required). The journal, something he had discovered in his first venture into Capsule Corp, was swiftly released from its' locked cabinet – he flicked through it then secured it in a black cloth bag tied to his belt.

He glanced over the area for a moment, there was an incredible treasure trove of technology hidden in the darkened room. A different kind of shadow would have been tempted. He wasn't.

Ten minutes later he was outside again; all traces of his invasion removed. A plain black van met him a few streets away. He stepped in through the open back and closed the door silently.

"How'd it go?"

He moved to lean against the drivers' seat, dropping his equipment on the shaking floor. His companion turned and brushed the hair from her eyes as he grinned at her – sharp teeth glinting orange in the glow of street lamps.

"Perfect, I just hope this journal is worth it. I don't like sneaking into that place.. it feels weird."

Though he didn't realise it in his training the arts of Ki had slipped in somewhere. Not manipulation, few people on Earth could teach that, but sensing people around him was all part of the Ninja trade. The good ones found themselves knowing someone was near without any tangible evidence. The odd feeling that Capsule Corp held was a result of the powerhouses that Trunks and Vegeta represented.

"He seems confident.." she turned back to the road and shifted gears, sighing quietly. Not quietly enough; his fox ears picked up just about everything.

"But?"

"He's been different lately, ever since he disappeared a few months ago."

"The day of the World Tournament.. yeah.."

"Then suddenly he's back, looking at us like.. I don't know what like.."

"I'm sure it'll be fine. He's different, I know, but maybe it was time for a change. He seems more alive than he has for years. When's the last time we've ever really _done_ anything?"

"It's been a while."

"Then maybe change is a good thing."

"Maybe you're right."

And the van had sped on through the night. Shu and Mia watched the road silently, caught in their own thoughts. Back to Lord Pilaf and the beginning of the end.

--------------------------------

Two figures danced through the air.

The mountains were the perfect place for sparring; it had to be said. The area was so changeable – a rocky precipice one minute, a forest the next – that any number of variations were possible. All out battles could, without warning, become a game of hide and seek as both warriors sought to pounce on each other.

And then they were back in the air again, one chasing the other frantically as he gripped the mantle of his cloak and tore it away – the heavy material not even giving his opponent reason to pause as he batted it away. Halting instantly and twisting about, the green warrior bared his fangs as a fist swung right past him.

Shocked, Son Gohan had enough presence of mind to bring his knees up and block the punch; the ripple effect of Ki crashing from one body to the other causing both of their gi to flap in the calm. He looked up at his former sensei and blushed.

"This," Piccolo said dryly, "is the one who almost defeated Buu?"

"Ah," began Gohan, "Well.."

Snorting, Piccolo brought around his left hand – along with the build up of Ki he had been charging while talking. Speech, he had told Gohan when he was younger, was as good a distraction as any. Apparently he needed a reminder. Golden energy erupted from his open palm and broke against against Gohans' stunned expression.

Of course the fact that Gohan was permanently empowered with his Mystic transformation meant that even going all out – which he wasn't – Piccolo could barely scratch him. The whole thing was more for his training than Gohans'; if the Buu experience had taught him anything it was that he was letting himself go. That sort of laziness could not be tolerated.

The young halfbreed spiralled backwards through the air, clothes smoking from the blast.

For his part Gohan felt every bit as shamed by Buu as Piccolo did. They had won and that was great but.. with all his power he hadn't been the one to end it. All he had really done was make him stronger. Would the old Gohan - the one who trained all the time - have lost? He honestly didn't know.

Gathering energy, aura crackling to life around his torso, Gohan felt for his teacher even as he fell. The important thing was to always let your opponent think you were off balance. If they thought they had the advantage then _you_ had the advantage. There he was! Just below him!

Immediately he twisted about and opened his eyes, one hand firing a sphere of molten yellow energy. The shocked Namekian was born backwards even as he blocked the attack and Gohan had a split second to celebrate. Then two pairs of feet collided with the small of his back and the pit of his stomach respectively. The two thirds of Piccolo grinned and seized him by an arm each, pitching the stunned warrior down towards their final third who was already charging energy from his fingertips resting against his forehead.

The two took identical poses.

"Special.."

"Beam.."

"Cannon.."

They grinned in unison and fired three corkscrewing beams - "_Fire!" - _that hit Gohan together. Even as the three separate beams pummelled him from all sides, Gohan had to laugh. After all it had been Piccolo who taught him about advantage. Weaker though he was, Gohan was hard pressed to beat him.

_Still, _Gohan thought, awakening that Mystic power, _he also taught me to use every advantage I have._

Gohan threw his head back and cried out, the trees below them quivering as he brought new energy forth from his body. He driove the three beams back with a wave of invidible ki, then Gohan dove back into the fight. Piccolo had time enough to bring himself together, then he was dodging and blocking through blurred air.

--------------------------------

Hands raised, Goku stepped backwards with a concentrated expression on his face.

Before him stood a girl, short raven hair ruffling more from the energies she was summoning than from the breeze that ran through the grass outside his home. With a cry she leapt forwards, hooking a foot around at his head only to have it blocked easily by his left hand. Ki swirling around her, she bobbed for a moment then rose upwards to kick down with her other foot - again blocked.

Sweat dancing off the tips of her hair, Videl flipped forwards off Gokus' hand to land crouched behind his back. She drove her fist upwards, into his back, and was caught again.

"Good.."

The air crackled as she brought her other hand around, a bright orange glow appearing as she concentrated and fired into the Saiyans chest. Goku stepped backwards and snuffed the beam out with one hand, still concentrating on the girl.

"Very good, Videl."

"If I'm so good, why are you being so soft!"

Her aura flared up, her hair swept upwards from her eyes, and Videl punched rapidly at her opponent, blows deflected left and right. Turning, her momentum still pushing her forward, she pistoned her foot forwards in kick after kick. Not a single blow landed. And it hurt.

They continued on for a few minutes, then the expression on Gokus' face melted to that familiar open grin. She hadn't wanted to stop but Videl respected the man enough not to push it, and just that moments pause gave her time to reassess just how tired she actually was. It wasn't normal for her to be tired. After all she had worked on her endurance for most of her life. Yet she was panting, bending forwards, sweat dripping into her eyes.

As if reading her thoughts, Goku produced a towel and passed it to her.

"I.. I don't know.. I'm so.."

"Tired?"

She nodded.

"You never really tapped into your energy to fight before." Goku dropped back onto the grass, legs crossed, and Videl mimicked him immediately. No matter how nonchalant he was, she refused to forget the ettiqute she had learned at the dojos of her home. "I'd say that fight with Spopovitch was your first, that right?"

Videl grimaced at the memory, but nodded again. The Saiyan patted various parts of his gi, then managed to find a plastic bottle of water which she gulped down with much more relish. Goku laughed but, again, Videl found it hard to take offence. He just found it funny that she was so thirsty; there was no mocking there.

"That's what we're working on, getting you used to using energy in your fights. Gohan could have done it but, well, once you get as strong as some of us have, keeping your power down and fighting _at the same time_ becomes pretty difficult."

"Conflicting instincts?"

"Um, maybe?" Goku ran a hand through his own hair, completely sweat free. "Vegetas' probably got a whole list of reasons, but you can ask him later."

"So.." Videl glanced into the distance, just managing to pick out the shimmering light of two warriors - pupil and master - training. "What happens when I get used to it?"

"Well I've been thinking about that.. I know plenty of humans who _could_ train you, it's just that they might not want to."

"Oh." Try as she might, Videl couldn't help but deflate a little at such a prediction.

"Krillens' still raising his family. Yamchas' only just got back into training. Tien is.. Tien, so that's probably a no." As he spoke, Goku ticked off fingers. "Even if Vegeta wanted to train you, you just aren't powerful enough to take it. Even Trunks gets bruised and he's a Super Saiyan himself.."

"And you have to help bring Gohan back to speed, he told me about it."

Videl smiled. It wasn't an easy thing to do but she managed to keep the feeling of rejection from her voice. Training someone up from scratch was just a lot of work - and apparently her previous training counted for next to nothing. With all kinds of creatures from space to worry about how could they possibly waste time on her.

"So I asked Picollo about training you."

Her smile froze.

"Um, that's okay, right?"

"Picollo? The big green man who trained Gohan?"

"Yep!"

"_He_ was willing to train _me_?"

"Well.." Goku hesitated, then his grin came back in full force. "Of course! He isn't easy on students, though, so-"

The Saiyan warrior was cut off as Videl literally pounced ontop of him, pulling him into a hug that could have bruised a couple of ribs on any 'normal' man. He sat there, bemused, and the girl fell backwards off him, stammering apologies with a blush on her face. Public displays of emotion were _not_ her thing. But Piccolo had taught Gohan nearly all he knew! How could she not be excited?

"I'm sorry, Mr Son-"

"_Videl_, please?"

"Sorry, Goku, sorry. It's just that I'm so happy! A fighter is the only thing I've ever wanted to be and.. well, it just feels good to be making progress."

"Well I'm glad." Goku rose to his feet and brought his hands up, Videl echoing him instantly. "It's best you train hard for a year or two right away."

"Oh?"

"If you let it slip for too long it's nearly impossible to come back."

"Well," Videl smirked and began to power up. "I don't intend to let it slip."

"Good! The more you gain now, the less you lose when you and Gohan have your baby."

"Yeah, I- _What_!" Videls aura died out completely for a moment, then came back with a new lease on life. She drew a deep breath, a vein popping up on her forehead, when Goten appeared at her side, bouncing from one foot to the other.

"Daaad?"

Goku glanced at Videl for a second longer, nose wrinkled in confusion, then turned to his son.

"Yeah, Goten? What's up?"

"Mom says that _Aunt Bulma_ says that you've got to go to her place."

"Right away?"

"Mmhmm, and you have to take me, and Gohan, and Mr Piccolo." The boy hesitated. "And me."

"Gee, its kinda out of the blue.." Goku turned back to Videl, who had lost the momentum of the tantrum she had been working up to. "Guess we're going to have to cut training short, Videl. You're staying for dinner, right?"

"I-um.. that is, yes. Yes, I am."

"Great!"

Goten leapt into his fathers arms and the Saiyan pressed two fingers of his free hand to his forehead. And he was gone, leaving Videl standing half a mile from the Son house. She picked up the towel and the bottle conscientiously, tucking the latter in her pocket and wrapping the former around her neck. Then she rose up into the air and skimmed across the rippling grass, making her way towards rest and relaxation.

Rest and relaxation.

Videls' eye twitched.

"Just what the hell did he mean by that, anyway!"

--------------------------------

Lying back against the pillows, the covers of his opulent, king-sized bed covering from the waist down, Pilaf held a diary to his chest and pondered. He had dismissed his servants as soon as they returned - even Mia, who normally stood in the shadows of his room as guard. She had protested but he had been quite adamant about it.

The fact was that they creeped him out a little.

As far as they were concerned he had just disappeared the day that Buu creature appeared. They had no recollection of him leaving, nor of Buu itself. They didn't even remember being dead! If not for his iron clad ego he might have suspected his own memories. But he was Pilaf, Lord and Master of the entire world. He was _never_ wrong.

And finally he had his proof.

Miss Briefs, who he still thought of as a monstrously crude young woman, knew everything. His first actions had been to skip forwards through the diary to a year and a half before, the day everything went wrong. That entry was the largest of them all, it covered page after page with feelings, thoughts and meaningless self-congratulation. And facts; beneath the incomprehensible tripe he found the facts.

Buu was a magical being, created by a wizard aeons ago. It had been resurrected on Earth - _no doubt Son Goku played a part in that_, Pilaf had thought with no idea how right he was - and for a while had obeyed the orders of the wizards' son. Then it went rogue and wiped out the entire population on the planet, though Goku and an assortment of other people - including Briefs' husband - managed to escape through some odd, half-mentioned ability, then blew the entire planet up.

Pilaf paused there for a moment and shuddered. He had stayed in a high orbit, hoping the whole thing would blow over, and the sight of the planet being ripped apart still haunted his dreams.

From there things got crazy. According to the writing Buu, Goku and Vegeta - Briefs' husband - went to the planet of the gods which _wasn't_ heaven; she went there. The planet was brought back with an entirely different set of Dragon Balls - he marked that for later thought - and with the help of the population Goku formed something called a 'Spirit Bomb' and destroyed Buu.

Only, apparently, Buu was still on Earth and living unmolested - proving once and for all that Son Goku was a fool.

A few months later they altered the populations memories - _Ah_ - and went back to business as usual. That meant that the Dragon Balls had only recently come back into action.

_And I know exactly what to do with them_.

Further reading kept bringing up a certain word. Fusion. Apparently two warriors could, in all manner of ways, fuse together to make one super powerful being. In this they created something that could, for a while, over power Buu. So he just had to bring the Dragon forth and ask to be fused to.. who?

Pilaf stared at the fabric that made up the roof of his bed, wondering.

The Vegeta that Briefs had described sounded like Gokus' match, if not superior.

"_Mia_!"

As he expected the door swung open a second later and Mia strode into the room, snapping off a quick salute, staring straight ahead. It would have been impressive if he hadn't seen her do the same thing every morning since she had come into his service; now it was expected.

"Yes, Lord Pilaf!"

"How soon can you have the Dragon Balls collected."

The woman permitted herself a small smile.

"Ten minutes, give or take a second, sir."

His mouth fell open, but he covered for himself a moment later. He was a Lord! He did _not_ gape at servants because they had pre-empted his wishes. It was good thinking but he'd be damned if he'd admit that.

"We had hoped to ask the Dragon where you had gone.."

"Ah, well.. Good work! Have them set up in the court yard, I shall take breakfast then make my wish."

"Yes, Lord Pilaf!"

With a click of her boots and a swish of her hair, Mia turned on the balls of her feet and strode out the door, closing it gently behind her. Pausing to make sure she was gone, Pilaf then leapt from his bed and discarded his sleeping cap. He pulled the curtains back and let new light of another day in - already it was approaching noon!

Pilaf dressed quickly - he had long since learned how. Too easy for such servants to be bribed into assassination. He was much safer taking the extra few minutes. He paused to check himself in the mirror, pulling his dress suit into a dignified shape, adjusting his bowl-cap, then scampered towards the door. His hand brushed against the handle.. then hesitated.

He went back to the bed and pulled the blaster from beneath his pillows.

Tucking it into his belt, hiding it badly under the shirt, he left.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note:

I know, the villains 'just happening' to have the Dragonballs is pretty cheap. But if the show can get away with it, I figure I should too. It will hardly be the largest lump to swallow in _this_ fic, but hopefully it'll taste good even if you choke.. XD

* * *

Things have a way of speeding up if you aren't careful. Get too carried away with the events of the world and suddenly those lazy seconds are blurring into hours and days. Much like stepping onto the garden path might just lead you anywhere in the world; consider the future – even for a moment – and time begins to become very important. 

Oolong didn't worry about what might happen, he had no curiosity or occupation to drag his attention forward, and would soon be one of the only members of an extremely extended family to think rationally. Of course Oolong was just – for the most part of the day – a pig. Having forced himself through a relatively unpleasant experience, Oolong had given his hands a good wash and was doing what he did best; lazing.

Not much he could be bitter about there..

To Goku and the gaggle of heroes and 'hangers on' the minutes were definitely beginning to quicken. Generally when Bulma Briefs was acting smug and self-indulgent the only possible conclusion was that something would rapidly be going awry. Yamcha, one hand scratching at his empty shoulder, was shocked to note that he had already missed an hour. Were it not for the absence of Puar, whom Bulma had insisted would be 'happier' left in the main building, he wouldn't have known at all.

And Pilaf?

The little lord had intended a short meal, but time had quite escaped him. He fell into day dreaming, fork mashing a collection of vegetable and meat products that could have bought a small country, about what it would be like. The ability to not only match Goku, but to defeat him with simple combat. The whole thing had seemed horribly undignified when the monkey-child had been there, tearing through his defenses, but Pilaf was willing to give anything a try.

Finally, as the last warrior, shaken but glowing in the invisible aura of possibility, moved back across the Briefs lawn, as one small figure rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and as Oolong whistled the afternoon away, Lord Pilaf stepped down from the expanse of his untouched meal and glanced towards Mia.

"Time to change."

So came the end of this world..

* * *

"Yamcha?" 

Ever since they had met, Puar went with Yamcha and that was that.

Few people could be together permanently for so long – and it had been more decades than Puar wanted to consider – without some over powering bond. Marriage or family or anything supernatural; an excuse to be with someone who could no longer surprise you.

Yamcha and Puar needed none of that.

Back in the early days, when Yamcha was bouncing along behind Miss Briefs on a hormone-driven high, Puar had fallen under some heavy suspicion. 'Just why does that cat have to follow us around, Yamcha?' 'You spend more time with that thing than me, Yamcha!' 'Any form! As long as she likes!' It was some kind of laughable compliment to be considered competition in Yamcha's first love-affair, but Puar found it hard to bear.

Of course, eventually, Bulma had mellowed some and after that Vegeta appeared, leaving Puar safe from randomly flung cutlery. And Puar learned the difficult lesson of giving her companion space – a lesson the man himself found just as hard to hold to – on his dates.

The two remained bachelor and bachelorette, both finding most relationships outside of their own flimsy by comparison. If there were any implications about this, neither explored them.

So Yamcha, in spite of several well meant flirtations, never really got a girl. Puar, who could be considered quite attractive in cat circles, left the screeching to her girlfriends. And upon waking on a sofa, the Brief's cat snuggling mutely up against it, Puar was alarmed to discover Yamcha wasn't nearby.

'_Okay, calm, he's probably.._'

That was a problem, 'probably..' what? She had fallen asleep against his chest, rocked by whatever bobs he made as he crossed the ocean towards Krillen's. If something had happened – and the Brief's house rarely implied anything else – it'd have to be pretty serious for him not to wake her.

She gave an absent-minded purr, stretching back against the petite black cat, then rose apologetically into the air. The cat gave her a sleepy, disgruntled, yowl, then fell back against the sofa. Puar, meanwhile, set to tracking.

Yamcha's scent was second nature to her; she could date it to the hour if necessary. The newest trail led back out the front door and, adding to her already twitchy nerves, it was accompanied by the strongest warriors of the planet.

'_Yamcha.._'

The group moved out onto the garden and, for a few moments, hesitated at the bulk of the Gravity Chamber. Here her examination was disrupted by the sheer stench of Saiyan sweat, which practically coated the area, and as a result she missed the sounds of a group moving on the other side of the chamber.

Instead she continued on, closer and closer to one particular warehouse.

* * *

It wasn't often that Yamcha felt he had contributed something to the group. In fact, on his more cynical days, he got the impression that the grandest title he'd ever attain was 'Detailer of Monkey-Boy'. And even that he'd have to keep to himself, lest Bulma or Chi-Chi expect him to pin down two pre-adolescent Saiyans. 

What a girl that Briefs was! He had always thought of himself as one of the more knowledgeable of the group, but she left him standing.

Everyone had thought the only way to concentrate the energy of two warriors into one was by fusion. They had all just taken that as being the one and only way of doing it, but there was Bulma thinking and tinkering. New kind of alloy that tends to do odd things around biological matter? Makes you feel _drained_ after holding it for a while? Well, says Bulma, let me see that..

* * *

The group was large and already feeling the ill effects of being too close to Gohan who, with that sheepish grin, was generating more energy than a Super Saiyan by just.. standing. A Ki Warrior's natural instinct was to be open to the energy of the planet, but even Vegeta was dampening down the ability with a scowl. 

They fidgeted, not unlike school children from Bulma's point of view, which was almost always unconsciously superior, in a darkened warehouse and waited for the explanation with varying levels of patience.

"Woman!"

Pursing her lips, Bulma shot her husband a glare that the others were glad not to receive, then flicked on the light. Immediately, as the group's adjusting vision was bombarded by pure light, the energy levels of all present spiked and the monstrosity leaning against the far wall growled hungrily.

Krillen, peering through his fingers, was first to comment.

"Bulma.. if you brought us all here to say you were pro on the electric chair.."

Groaning at the general idiocy of men, the genius strode to the front of the group and, concrete floor crunching under her sensible boots, cast a hand towards the device.

"This is **not** an electric chair."

The comparison was unfortunate, but hardly surprising on reflection. It _was_ a chair, a futuristic design of molded metal that, by means of cables hooked into the base, connected to two massive turbines that rose up on either side. In fact, to the morbid, it looked almost capable of murdering one of them.

"This Device absorbs Ki and stores it for later use."

The group had just managed to hold their ground in the face of the first revelation, the second forced all but Gohan and Android 18 to take a sharp step backwards. Of course all involved were attempting to make the move as nonchalantly as possible, which would have worked had they not all done it simultaneously.

Gohan, on the other hand, stepped forwards. 18 remained where she originally stood, eying Bulma's creation with little more than mild interest.

"Human scientists have never been able to even _detect_ Ki," murmured Gohan, mostly to himself, before turning goggle-eyes on the proud scientists, "Gosh, Bulma, you really _are_ a genius!"

"Was there any doubt?" Bulma's smirk widened.

"You can't absorb Ki," snapped Piccolo from a corner of the group, "life force goes beyond gadgets and.." he trailed off, his terminology for technology temporarily drained.

"Cell could," offered Goku, smiling in puzzlement as the Namekian turned a murderous glare upon him. "You remember, don't you, Piccolo?"

"Fine, fine," Vegeta took a brave pace forward, "say you can do this.. monstrous, ridiculous, ignorant thing. What would be the point?"

"Well," retorted Bulma, voice buzzing in the tones of a woman dropping a full house onto the table, "if I can take some huge amount of energy from you guys, who says I can't pour it all back into one?"

This made them pause.

"Still," continued Vegeta, significantly more thoughtful with the image of him, empowered beyond his wildest dreams, "this creation.. it's untested."

"Don't be stupid, I tested it on myself!"

In spite of it all, Vegeta opened his mouth to argue again.. and then Goku chimed in. Grinning cheerfully, he stepped beyond his eldest son and poked at the chair. Then he glanced back and, quite possibly without meaning to, shamed the entire lot.

"Come on, Vegeta, what's the worse that could happen?"

And he sat down, ready for it to begin.

* * *

An hour or two later, the warriors understandably weary, the warehouse was vacated. The last out, still feeling the thrill of actually creating something that just might save the world one day – through science rather than brute force – Bulma made two key mistakes. 

First, she set up the machine ready to transfer all it's energy into the next occupant. Second, she left the door unlocked.

Puar arrived and, confused by the muddle around the entrance, followed the strongest scent inside. Cat eyes picked up everything, the turbines, the chair, and, on a whim, she bobbed inside.

(Pilaf, bitter fantasies over defeating his rival slowing him just enough, arrived at the courtyard and dismissed both servants. They disappeared into the shadows, not daring to ask what he planned to wish for. Shu's eyes trailed over him, but he put the fox from his mind and cast one hand to the glowing orbs.)

One of many, but still there, Yamcha's scent traveled forwards and settled on the outlandish chair. He wasn't _there_ but the scent was, and she truly did miss him. So, on a habit too old to even be considered, Puar shifted into the form of her friend and, as Yamcha, sat on the chair.

("Dragon! Come out and grant my wish!")

For a moment s/he just rested back against the chair, the scent a mere memory on sinuses that did not truly exist in her/his current form, and rested. S/he was really quite tired. And then, beyond the range of human ears, the terminal on the far side of the room blinked into action.

(It rose and rose, dark clouds rolling into appearance around its stretching green form. Coils writhed into existence, haloed by bright energy and red light, amongst the crashing of lightning and the shuddering of Pilaf's mighty castle. The dragon, an incredible sight even for the educated, towered upwards.. then turned its attention towards the summoner.)

Then everything went wrong. It was something akin to having transformed once too often – Puar could technically do it as much as she liked, unlike some uneducated swine, but even she could get tired. Except the opposite, she felt like she could transform a thousand times in a second and still be fine! It was euphoric!

("**Speak your wishes, mortal, or release me!**")

It lasted barely a moment, then it was too much. Far too much, that feeling kept rising and rising until her Yamcha body felt full to the brim and, working on instinct, she became Goku instead. Sparks begin to form around her/his body and Saiyan fingers gripped the metal armrests, feeling them shift slightly under strength s/he should not have been able to use.

(Pilaf smirked up at the monster, floating on self-confidence that could have supported any deity over the most storm-ridden expanse of water.)

The changes flickered through her, faster and faster, blurring her form into something unreal. Goku, Gohan, tiny Gohan, tiny Krillen, Krillen with hair, 18, Yamcha, Bulma, Vegeta, young Trunks, old Trunks, and on, and on, and on, seeking a form that could handle what they suffered. Of course they were all _Puar_ in some way or another, but that hardly mattered to mindless instinct. And still the power rose, a fully-fledged aura burst into life around her.

("I wish to fuse!")

Finally, as all hurt things do, she returned to the most natural form of all, her own. The little cat, surrounded by an inferno of power she could not hope to control, began to wail.

("**Hmm,** **with whom?**")

The chair buckled and strained against her. The turbines began to smoke. The very walls shuddered and shimmied like ponderous dancers. The floor cracked and splintered like glass.

("With.. with.." Pilaf hesitated, at the key moment, then grinned at his own brilliance, "With the strongest creature on this planet!")

Puar's mind fled into the dark recesses as it was pressed back by energy and knowledge. Knowledge of men who had felt and hurt and fought for most of their lives, ways of moving, ways of thinking that were alien to her. A solidity that frightened her. And, amongst it all, the knowledge that her hero, her friend, her brother, was moving towards her now.. too late..

("**It is done! Name your-**")

When something new appeared, something definite even in the midst of the horror, and it was with almost gratitude that her mind caved in before it. The screams, echoing from a figure hid in brilliant energy, took on a victorious tinge.

(The dragon was left staring down at an empty court-yard. It was nearly impossible for the creature to be shocked by anything that happened as a result of its wishes, but here, on this one occasion, things had not happened as it would have preferred.)

The energy spread outwards, warehouse and machine as much ash in the face of the explosion, and left one distinct figure hanging in mid-air. It was small and blue, covered by a dense layer of fur, from the tip of it's pointed ears down to the long tail. It was also dressed in the manner of a Lord, wrinkled by age and cackling gleefully.

("**Bugger**.")

Then, with barely a twitch, it was Pilaf again. Or, rather, it was a Pilaf whom had kept growing. His arms and legs muscled and long, body lean but tapering outwards as it rose, jaw chiseled even as he grinned with joy. In other words this creature of malevolent beauty was exactly how Lord Pilaf viewed himself.

There was no confusion, he _knew_ where he was and why. He knew that Goku, along with a group of powerful companions – _yamchayamchayamcha_ – were on their way. What's more, along with this newfound ability to float, he could _feel_ their approach.

He – _she_ – had gained a lot in such a short period of time. A lot to take in. The wise course of action would be to retreat and consider his position.

Then, of course, the air before him shimmered and Son Goku appeared out of nowhere. And the rule book went right out of the window.

* * *

"Eh, this is kinda short noti-" 

Looking up from his reclining position on the sofa, Oolong caught the welcome sight of an indignant Roshi being forced backwards, followed by the less welcome sight of his sister hovering into the room on a crystal ball.

"Ugh, not the crone.."

"I _heard_ that!" she snapped, casting an upset eye in the pig's direction. "But no matter, I've got bad news!"

"No hello, no how are you, no present, no-"

"Oh do be quiet, brother, it's important!"

"How important?" asked Oolong, head poking up over the back of sofa, "World going to end?"

"The-" the old woman hesitated, "Well.."

"I _knew _it!" the pig wailed, falling backwards, "I knew, I knew, I knew!"

"Then why're you here?" piped in Roshi, seriousness tightening his wrinkled face, "shouldn't you be on the 'Other-Side'? Or speakin' to Goku?"

"I.." she hesitated and, her voice dropping from a piercing cry to a mere whisper, continued, "I don't know.. just.. I'm meant to be here."

All business, Roshi nodded in Oolong's direction even as the pig began to back away.

"Call the girl, give 'em a heads up. I'll-"

"Uncle Roshi?"

And, from her bedroom, Maron appeared, rubbing her eyes. The old man forced a grin, waving the pig towards her.

"Change of plans, you keep Maron busy, _I'll_ call. And Oolong?"

The pig glanced over his shoulder even as he began to lead Maron back to her room, intent on keeping as far from any dangerous stuff as possible. It was unlikely that a monster could get you through the phone, but he wasn't the type to risk it.

"Yeah, old man?"

"Keep cool.."

"Yeah, yeah.."

The two disappeared, Oolong's voice directing Maron towards a selection of stuffed animals before the door closed. Then, already dialing, Roshi turned his attention towards his sister.

"Is it Maron? Is she in danger?"

"Honestly don't know," Uranai Baba poked at her crystal ball, gaining a snowstorm of static for her troubles. "Just that something happens here.. or someone does something. It's a feeling, Roshi, nothing more."

"Pretty strong feeling for you to come all this way.."

"Hmph, you try to contact your people, brother. I'll keep trying mine."

* * *

It mightn't have happened. In so many realities, for so many reasons, it didn't. Here and now, however, in this world and this place, with these people.. it _did_. And, as unlikely as it was, the outcome rested squarely on the shoulders of one stout, shape-shifting pig; currently sipping on his imaginary namesake. 

It's true that that which goes up will always come down.

But, every so often, on the knife-edge that these people live on, the fallen can rise.


End file.
